


Rise of the Living Dummy

by WendyLeaf



Category: Goosebumps - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Affection, F/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Minor Violence, Possessive Behaviour, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyLeaf/pseuds/WendyLeaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brigitte Wallace is still trying to adjust to life in a new house, when she one day discovers a ventriloquist dummy sitting in her attic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Goosebumps. The original characters, on the other hand, do belong to me. I'm just writing this story because my wild imagination demands it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Goosebumps. The original characters, on the other hand, do belong to me. I'm just writing this story because my wild imagination demands it!

**RISE OF THE LIVING DUMMY**

**I.**

"We're living _here_?"

Looking out through the window from the passenger's seat of the car, Brigitte Wallace stared up at the dark, rundown looking house looming gloomily in front of her, frowning deeply. Judging by its derelict appearance, she assumed that it had been abandoned for a long time. A very long time.

What on earth had her mother been thinking when she decided to buy the place?

Time and neglect had not treated the Victorian home well, the white painted slats dulled and peeling, windows stained, ivy climbing high along the walls and pillars standing on the far ends of the front porch. Bordering the property itself was an intimidating black iron fence, the grass and weeds caged behind it thick and overgrown. And on the front lawn, alone, stood a large maple tree filled with leaves, littering the property in a sea of autumn colours.

It could have been called beautiful, once upon a time.

"Brigitte, please. Don't do this right now. We just got here." Her mother, Emmaline Wallace, said to her as she stepped out of the car. Unbuckling her seatbelt, Brigitte remained in her seat a moment longer before reluctantly following suit, pulling her grey sweater's hood up when the autumn wind nipped at her brown hair.

"But why _this_ house? I thought we were moving to the one down on Oak Street." At least _that_ house hadn't looked as if it would fall over from the slightest breeze.

Her hazel eyes remained fixed on the house, taking in every inch of it. There was a strange stillness surrounding the property, a dead silence that she was only vaguely aware of. Eventually though, she noticed what appeared to be an attic window, placed perfectly in the centre of the house near the rooftop. It was just a small window, round and easy to overlook, but for whatever reason, it stood out to her like a lit matchstick in the dark.

After a moment, she forcefully tore her gaze away, unable to stare at it any longer. As drawing as the window was, there was also something unsettling about it. Of course, attics in general were notorious for invoking the creative mind with nightmarish thoughts. It was probably just her imagination trying to scare her because she didn't know the house yet. Yes, that was likely the case.

Brigitte was quickly pulled from her musings when she heard her mother answer her.

"There was another potential buyer interested in that house who made an offer that we simply couldn't compete with. This one had no competitors and it was surprisingly cheap."

 _I can see why_ , the teenager thought dryly.

Her mother, as if reading her thoughts, quickly spoke up again after opening the trunk of the car.

"I know it's not your typical dream house, Brig, but we can change that. With some fresh paint and a little touching up, this house will look as good as new again!"

But it won't be the same, Brigitte wanted to say. It won't be like our old home, our beautiful home that had once been filled with warmth and long lasting memories. The sixteen year old longed desperately for the past – not the future that now loomed drearily in front of her.

When she didn't reply, she heard her mother sigh. A moment later, she felt a hand gently squeeze her shoulder.

"This change will be good for us, honey. Please just trust me on this."

Hearing the warmth and strain in her words, Brigitte immediately felt guilty. Though her mother was a usually bright and optimistic woman, the teenager knew the move couldn't have been easy for her either. She was leaving behind memories of her own too.

She could not afford to be selfish. She had to learn how to be strong too.

Placing her hand atop her mother's, Brigitte gently squeezed it in turn, smiling apologetically. Her throat felt suspiciously tight then, but she pushed through it, willing herself to speak.

"I know, mom. I know. I'm sorry."

Her mother, looking significantly brighter after a moment, squeezed her shoulder one last time before moving away to grab a box filled with their belongings.

"That's my girl. Now help me carry these boxes into the house. The sooner they're all brought inside, the sooner we can order something for dinner. I'm starving!"

Feeling her stomach rumble in agreement, Brigitte glanced at the attic window one last time before grabbing one of the boxes and hurrying after her mother, who was already climbing the creaking stairs leading to the front door. Reaching her side, her footsteps slowing, she watched her insert an old key into the lock, turning it until a loud click finally resounded all around them.

The door was soon pushed open, revealing to both women nothing but a musty smell and darkness.

 _Of course_ , Brigitte thought, withholding a groan.

"How's pizza sound?" her mother asked as they stepped inside, Brigitte's answer muffled as the door slowly shut behind them with a loud and ominous creak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Slappy in this story will be based off of the one from the 2015 movie, though the story itself will not be taking place in that universe. My plan is to try to make him a lot more darker as well, so here's to hoping that I do okay! It remains to be seen if any romance will be involved in this story either.
> 
> Reviews are always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Goosebumps. The original characters, on the other hand, do belong to me. I'm just writing this story because my wild imagination demands it!

**RISE OF THE LIVING DUMMY**

**II.**

A week had passed since they had moved into the house. A long and arduous week filled with cleaning, repairing, and organizing. Brigitte had unfortunately discovered, shortly after first stepping foot into her new home, just how poor of a state the house had been in. Truly, in all her sixteen years of living, she'd never seen a house look so dirty. The outside of it almost looked clean in comparison. _Almost_.

The amount of cobwebs and dust that had accumulated over the years had been an absolute pain for the family of two to clear away. And what was worse? They _still_ weren't finished. It would take them at least another week to remove the rest. There was also the matter of the water pipes producing brown water, as well as the heating system not working. The list was endless.

And to top it all off, she _still_ had to go to school, which meant that she also had homework and studying to do.

To say Brigitte was tired was an understatement.

If there was an upside to moving though, it was that she got her own master bedroom and bathroom. The Victorian home was relatively large after all, with four bedrooms and two bathrooms to choose from on the upper level. With two of those rooms being master bedrooms, it seemed understandable that the teenager would want to claim one of them. The bathroom was just an added bonus.

Brigitte had also found some pull-down stairs, but she tried not to dwell on where they led to. Call her childish, but the attic still gave her goosebumps.

Lastly, there was the bottom level of the house, comprised mainly of a kitchen, living room, and dining room. The sort of thing you'd expect to see in a home, really. The only thing standing apart from them was the room hiding at the back of the house; a study room, filled with shelves after shelves of books. Old books. Some of them were written in English, but the other ones... Brigitte wasn't sure. It all just looked like gibberish to her.

It didn't linger on her mind for long though. With the amount of work she still had on her plate, her mind was understandably all over the place. Making the home a proper home was her main priority, first and foremost. With everything cleaned and fixed, it would finally look beautiful in the end. It had to.

She would not settle for anything less.

* * *

Friday quickly rolled around, and Brigitte found herself in a surprisingly good mood, which could only mean one thing. School had just finished for the week. For the next two days, the door to youthful freedom was open to her – at least for a little bit. There was still some work to be done at home, after all.

But that could wait until later.

"Hey, hon. How was school?" her mother asked her when she got home. The older woman was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, chopping onions on the counter with a frilly apron tied around her waist.

"Okay," Brigitte answered distractedly, making a beeline for the fridge, intent on finding something to snack on.

"Dinner will be ready soon, so don't eat anything," her mother warned, staring pointedly at the pot of water boiling on the stove. "I'm making spaghetti."

Following her stare, the teenager nearly did a double take.

"The stove's actually working?" Suddenly more interested in the prospect of eating a delicious home cooked meal again, Brigitte turned away from the fridge, abandoning her mission. Her mother, sensing her excitement, smiled warmly at her, chuckling.

"Fully operating, baby. Your genius mother fixed it all by herself today."

No more having to survive off of leftover takeout food. She nearly wept with joy. "Thank god. Another day of cold pizza and I swear I would have lost my marbles."

"Oh hush, you little drama queen. It wasn't that bad."

Brigitte stared at her mother blankly for a moment, unimpressed. "I'm serious. The cafeteria food at school was actually starting to taste good in comparison. The cafeteria food, mom."

"You say that now, but I know you. You'll be craving pizza again by Monday."

"That's what you think." Chuckling, she turned to leave the kitchen, before pausing. "Do you want me to give you a hand?"

"I'm good, hon, but that reminds me. Before I finish up here, can you take a box into the attic? I was going to do it earlier, but a phone call distracted me. I left it sitting beneath the hatch."

Registering her mother's words, Brigitte's good mood instantly vanished, something cold taking its place. It climbed steadily, a whispering touch trailing along the back of her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Was trepidation considered a normal reaction, especially in her case? The teenager didn't know why the thought of entering the attic bothered her so much. She'd never even seen it before.

Why couldn't it stay that way?

Rubbing her arms reflexively, she frowned. "Do I have to? That attic gives me the creeps." The older woman might as well have been asking her to spend the night in a graveyard.

"It's only creepy because you're letting yourself believe it is," her mother said, ignoring her unspoken plea. "Try thinking of it as a dirty attic instead. You'd be surprised how much it works."

"But—"

"I'll give you tomorrow off."

Brigitte, who had been prepared to say more, abruptly paused, furrowing her brow. _Is she..._

"Are you trying to bribe me?" she asked, surprised that her mother would stoop to such a level. But then she actually thought about it. A whole Saturday spent doing nothing, and all she had to do was take a box into the attic? The offer was far too tempting to refuse – and Emmaline Wallace knew it. The older woman had gone straight for the jugular, figuratively speaking, because she knew her daughter's exhaustion outweighed her fear far more in that moment.

Brigitte would have been a fool to say no.

Her mother's blue eyes stared at her knowingly. "Is it working?"

Her hazel eyes stared back, narrowing. "...maybe." _Yes_.

Emmaline smiled triumphantly. "The stairs are easy to unfold," she instructed, returning her attention back to her cooking. "Just watch your head when you pull the drawstring down. And take a flashlight with you!"

Making a small noise to indicate that she'd heard her, Brigitte left the room and made her way upstairs, grabbing a flashlight along the way. Not in any rush to reach the attic quickly though, she made sure to take her time, stopping to use the washroom, before heading to her room to change into something more comfortable. The attic could not be avoided forever though, and all too soon she found herself standing beneath its hatch, the box waiting beside her.

_Alright, let's just get this over and done with_.

With great reluctance, she reached up and pulled the drawstring, lowering the hatch down with a loud creak. The stairs that followed after unfolded with only some difficulty, but by the time that was done, she was already looking up, staring. Staring, staring, staring. The dark hole she watched so intently loomed like a quiet reaper above her, staring back and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

For a few minutes, Brigitte stayed frozen like this, hazel eyes unblinking, breath bated, every muscle in her body pulled taut.

It's just a dirty attic, the teenager told herself, repeating the thought over and over until she could finally move her body again. Gathering her courage, she picked up the box and began her slow ascent up the stairs, the yawning mouth of the attic swallowing her.

She knew what she would find up there, and she was not disappointed.

Darkness greeted her, hollow and silent, crawling from every crevice and corner of the room. It was a monster in its own right, manifesting from all directions, left and right, above and below, devouring anything within reach. Even Brigitte, who quickly fumbled for the flashlight sitting in her pocket, turning it on.

The shadows, now enhanced by the light, stretched widely across the expansive room, painting the walls with grotesque figures and shapes. Brigitte eyed them all warily, shining her light on each of them. In one corner, a shadow that looked like a tall, thin man simply turned out to be a coat hanger with a hat sitting on it. In another, what appeared to be a clawed hand actually turned out to be a gnarled branch belonging to a dead plant. Bit by bit, the shadows of the room unveiled their sources to her, slowly easing her worries.

They were everywhere – but they were also harmless.

Boxes, picture frames, and old pieces of junk. That's all the room contained in the end. She still found it creepy though. Standing in the dark with a flashlight serving as your only source of light, how could she not? Her only comfort was knowing what kind of monsters she faced now. More cobwebs and dust bunnies. How terrifying.

Placing the box down, Brigitte shook her head, chuckling. How could she have been so scared? Her mother was right. It really was just a dirty attic.

Relaxing, she turned to leave – and nearly dropped her flashlight, screaming.

_There was someone in the room with her_.

Seated on an old armchair before her was a small, dark shape. A distinctly humanoid shape. Brigitte knew it wasn't a harmless shadow this time. The form was too physical, too real. She could even see the dull gleam coming from its shoes.

Had it been watching her this whole time?

Scared stiff, she stared at the seated figure, waiting for it to move, expecting the worse. Only... it didn't move. In fact, it didn't do anything.

It just sat there.

A minute passed, and still no movement. And then another, producing the same result, eliciting more fear and confusion out of the trembling girl. The figure just continued to sit in the dark, absolutely motionless. It was slowly driving her crazy.

_WHY AREN'T YOU MOVING?_

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Brigitte braced herself, shining her flashlight on the armchair, at last revealing the form of the person sitting there.

Only it wasn't a person, she suddenly realized, taking a small step forward, feeling her fear slowly start to abate. No, it wasn't a person at all.

...

...

...

It was a ventriloquist dummy.


End file.
